


Bang bang, my baby shot me down

by Lemon_Lush



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_Lush/pseuds/Lemon_Lush
Summary: A collection of random drabbles and stuff from my blog bngbby on tumblr where I write KnockOut.
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out (Transformers), Knock Out (Transformers)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. A memory (1)

Purple colors the world aboard the warship Nemesis. Everything is tinted in the cold color, washing over everything. The only break from the color in the medbay were the strong overhead spotlights. Leaving the entire room sinister, with dark shadows thrown far. 

A unique pain he’d never felt before was stabbing his chest, an intense wave of emotion washing over him. Leaving the mech venting in quick bursts, gasping as wave after wave of intense pain and feeling crashed into him. Radiating from his center out in sharp spears. Clawed digits sunk into his desk. Gouging lines into the metal, his other servo grasping at nothing as he held himself together just enough not to sink them into his own chestplate.

He’d never felt anything as painful since the Autobots began weaponizing radiation against the Decepticon medics. The pain was similar, but held key differences. Where one burned, this felt sharp. His spark, he realized. Something was terribly wrong with his spark, and for a moment he feared his radiation levels had spiked again.

Ping after ping he attempted to summon his assistant to his side, his conjux. The only mech he’d ever allow to see him like this. Normally Breakdown was timely with replying. KnockOut was always his first priority, the doctor wouldn’t have it any other way. It was only when he was dealing with mining duties that Breakdown was not quick to answer.

KnockOut knew for certain that there had been no change in mining shifts. It was still a few days away, and that Breakdown had not had any inspections on his schedule. He should have been aboard the Nemesis. Breakdown had just been polishing him earlier. 

What was it Breakdown had last said to him? KnockOut had been wrist deep in a Vehicon breaking the drone down for parts when he’d stopped in to say something, but KnockOut had not been paying attention. 

A short string of Velocitronian curses left his lips as he finally forced his locking joints to relax enough for him to sit down in his chair before another spasm ran through his frame. 

The pain lessened eventually, but every bit of him was sore and painful. Each movement provoked a sharp stabbing. Pulling back his chest plates to reveal his spark in the mirror was excruciating. The racer’s brilliant crimson spark was dull in hue. Something he’d only seen after his worst crashes, and aforementioned radiation attacks. Something caught his eye that left a sinking feeling in his fuel tank. The wisps of orange light surrounding his spark were missing.

His chest plates snapped back suddenly as he stood far too quickly. Consoling himself with every lie he possibly could. Everything was fine, KnockOut soothed himself. Breakdown wasn’t allowed to leave him, and that big idiot wouldn’t ever do anything to upset him.

That night he couldn’t sleep, waiting up in their berth as he attempted to relax. Breakdown didn’t come back. The next morning Dreadwing refused to meet his otpics. 


	2. You've never hurt me

_"You've never hurt me, ever" Whirl said._

It is difficult to believe, impossible even, that there is not one instance in where he has caused them pain. A distinct sadness hangs in his field, tinged with stress. It feels like static, white noise. A hollowness with an undercurrent of regret. 

KnockOut can’t help but let ruined memories filter through his processor. Broken, corrupted files of times he’d messed up. Of suffering he caused to even the one he had loved. His cruel tendencies painting dark marks over what had once been pleasant memories. Every smile, every soft touch. He was left second guessing each one.

Slowly he turns whirl’s servo over in his own, admiring the shape of it in his dainty claws. He places soft kisses along the joint. For a moment his grip tightens before returning to a feather-light touch. His slow sighing vent hitching as he attempts to save face, to hold himself together. It was still so frightening to be vulnerable.

“I will.” He speaks the ominous promise softly against the warm metal under his lips. If he hasn’t already, then he is certain that it will come to pass. No matter how hard he tries, he fears it’s in his nature. KnockOut lifts his helm to meet Whirl’s gaze. Red optics dull and threatening tears. He lifts one servo to touch Whirl’s helm, claws ghosting under their mandible. “Just promise to forgive me when I do.”


	3. A hard choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would you rather gain your memory back, or lose the memories of everyone you've failed to save?"

“I feel like you’ve mistaken me for somebody else. All the people I’ve failed to save? I don’t lose sleep over the patients who died on my table. I mean, a good number of them I knowingly killed myself. See… unlike the Autobots we Decpeticon medics weren’t about to use every single one of our limited resources saving a mech on death’s doorstep. We finished the job. Instead of losing four mechs we’d end one’s misery then save three other’s. I’m not incredibly sentimental over it. Over any of them. I did my job, I kept myself alive. That’s all it was ever about.”

Then KnockOut is quiet for a moment, because there is one mech he loses sleep over. Had he failed to save Breakdown? KnockOut wasn’t sure. He certainly failed him, that much he knew. Then there was another, not a mech he’d failed. Just one he lost. Who knows where that old truck was now, weather he survived the war or perished. KnockOut didn’t even know if he chose a side. What the speedster did know is that KnockOut couldn’t remember his face. It was something that pained him, that he could pass him on the street and he might not notice. There were things in his past he was fine with forgetting. Things that he would rather stay gone, but if it meant getting a chance to remember those times clearly…

“Of the two choices I’d take a non-damaged memory.”

Oh but, wasn’t that just a happy thought? In the end none of it really mattered. Those memories were broken, gone. LockCross’ face was lost to him forever. It wasn’t coming back. Neither of them were coming back.


	4. A memory (2)

LockCross’ bar was warm as always, softened by the blanket of a hazy memory. The orange and yellow lights were so incredibly inviting. A stark contrast to the cool shades of the neons bleeding down from the high end areas of Delta. Even empty now of the bodies that once filled it the old run down bar still seemed alive. Buzzing with it’s own gentle energy. A quiet peace settled over the two mechs left within it’s walls.

A glass sat half-full beside the rose gold racer. For once something a little higher quality, from a bottle that was tucked up on one of the shelves. Nearly forgotten with a thin layer of dust claiming it. KnockOut can’t remember what he said, the sound of his own voice breaking into static as the memory glitches.

“Heh, just finish up your drink Sweetspark. I’ll be done here soon enough.” LockCross has a deep voice that rumbles with the weight of his engine when he speaks. The old heavy-weight truck only turns his helm to look over his shoulder at KnockOut, who in turn is attempting to catch his hip seam with his claws. A warm laugh shaking the truck’s frame before he returns to wiping down glasses. KnockOut can’t remember his face anymore. Lost to time and damage. He remembers that smile though, the way it tilted to the left and the little crack that crossed his lips.

“You know, no matter how many times you wipe those glasses down they’re going to be sticky,” KnockOut pouted as he sipped the sweet flavored high-grade. “It’s part of the charm anyway.” He broke into a fit of giggles, but the look LockCross is giving him is lost in broken data.

“Charm or not I don’t need no bot getting-” The moment is broken, his voice cracking as the memory falls into sharp static. Lines of blue and green breaking up the warm scene.


End file.
